


Радуйся Маріе.

by keehl



Category: Death Note & Related Fandoms, Death Note (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Childhood Friends, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, M/M, Platonic Cuddling, Religious Content, Russian Mihael Keehl, Wammy's Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-29 22:43:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20804201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keehl/pseuds/keehl





	Радуйся Маріе.

“_Радуйся_ _Маріе__, __Благодати_ _полная__, __Господь_ _съ_ _Тобою_ _благословенна_ _Ты_ _между_ _женами__, и __благословень_ _плодь_ _чрева_ _Твоего_ _Іисус__._”

While the words on their own meant nothing to him, Mail recognised them as what  Mihael had told him was the Hail Mary as he had first learned it, in Russian. It was easy to forget, sometimes, that  Mihael wasn’t a native English speaker, and that he hadn’t even been born in England, as the Russian in his accent had grown so faint over his years at  Wammy’s House.  Mihael always recited his prayers in Russian — he did know their words in English, but he said it felt more natural to recite them as he had learned them. Mail didn’t mind. He could repeat certain prayers himself and sound like he spoke the language natively, he’d heard them so many times.

He liked to listen while  Mihael was praying. It was comforting to him as well, even if he didn’t share his friend’s faith. He had never been religious himself, but  Mihael had been raised Catholic, and in all the time Mail had known him, he had been rather on the devout side. Mail had gone with him into a nearby town for Sunday Mass once. It wasn’t unpleasant. The Priest giving Mass had seemed thrilled to see a new face, the congregation being small enough that he was able to notice things like one new person joining them. And he wasn’t shamed when  Mihael had explained that he wasn’t actually religious, which was nice. He didn’t like to think bad of Catholicism, given how much the faith meant to  Mihael , but he had always heard that they tended to be the most likely to try and force their beliefs on a person. But  Mihael had never done that to him. In fact, he had always respected  Mail’s lack of faith.

“_Святая_ _Маріе__, __Матерь_ _Божія_ _моли__ о __насъ_ _грешныхъ_ _ныне__ и __въ_ _чась_ _смерти_ _нашей__. __Аминь_.”

Mail had lost count of how many times he’d heard the prayer repeated in the last hour or so. He'd not known before he met  Mihael , but it seemed to be that it was said in lots. That was the point of the Rosary, he’d gathered. He’d bought one of those for  Mihael , for his eleventh birthday, nearly two years ago. And every day since then,  Mihael had worn it around his neck. He said he found it comforting. Mail had noticed that comfort seemed to be tied to a lot of  Mihael’s religious practises. He understood that, though. Unlike himself,  Mihael knew his family, once, and had lost them. At least he could believe they were still around in some sense, watching over him. Mail almost wished he could comfort himself in the same way, assure himself that the family he never knew was still watching over him.

In truth, he didn’t even know for sure that his parents were dead to begin with. As a child, he liked to assure himself that they were  — which at first seemed a strange thing for a child to take comfort in, but it was far nicer than believing that he had simply been abandoned  — but since then he had learned not to care. Maybe his parents were still alive, and for whatever reason they just didn’t want him. That didn’t bother him now. He didn’t need them. He hadn’t needed them for what felt like the only part of his life that held any meaning, when a small, skinny little Russian boy who looked as if he could be a girl (he still did, in all honesty, which was why the nickname  _ Princess _ had persisted for so long) had first offered his hand to him. Perhaps it was sappy, but  Mihael was the only friend he had ever had, and since he had never had a family, Mail genuinely believed that he was the only person who had ever cared about him.

“_Радуйся_ _Маріе__, __Благодати_ _полная__, __Господь_ _съ_ _Тобою_ _благословенна_ _Ты_ _между_ _женами__, и __благословень_ _плодь_ _чрева_ _Твоего_ _Іисус__._”

There it was again, the beginning of the Hail Mary.  Mihael had been sitting with  hiseyes closed for some time now, on Mail’s bed, as he seemed to much prefer to stay in Mail’s bedroom than his own, his legs crossed and the Rosary that Mail had bought for him tangled around his hands. Mail was simply watching him from his desk chair, silent, as he liked to be, listening to the foreign and yet extremely familiar words. He could see why  Mihael took so much comfort in this, he thought. Objectively, prayer meant nothing to him, just as all other aspects of religion meant nothing to him. However, hearing  Mihael pray, muttering the words quickly under his breath, in a rhythm that Mail swore his breathing changed to keep up with, was a very comforting thing. Mail could sit here and listen to him for hours and hours, and it would never get boring.

In fact, he’d even been lulled off to sleep more than once by the calming sound of  Mihael repeating this very prayer to himself. Mail had never been a very easy sleeper, and most of the time, when  Mihael would let himself into his room in the middle of the night (usually when he was upset, as unlike Mail he was an extremely emotional person) he wasn’t actually asleep. He let  Mihael believe he was, though, as he knew that  Mihael tended to get even more upset when he had an audience.  Mihael would often lie next to him, whispering the Hail Mary over and over, presumably until he fell asleep  — but Mail always drifted off first. He liked listening to him.

“_Святая_ _Маріе__, __Матерь_ _Божія_ _моли__ о __насъ_ _грешныхъ_ _ныне__ и __въ_ _чась_ _смерти_ _нашей__. __Аминь_.”

Another, finished. Mail watched in anticipation, wondering if  Mihael was going to repeat it again, or if he would open his eyes, signalling that he was finished. He chose the latter, and smiled when he saw Mail watching him.

“Entertained?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. It was strange to hear him speaking in English again, but Mail wasn’t complaining. As much as he liked listening to  Mihael speaking his first language, he didn’t understand much of it outside of  Mihael’s prayers, so it would be rather difficult to communicate with him. Communication had never been Mail’s strong suit anyway, although he was getting better at it.

“Shut up,” Mail muttered, as he got up from his chair, and took a seat on the bed beside  Mihael . Almost immediately, the blonde rested his head on Mail’s shoulder, something that Mail had grown used to over the last few years. He had grown up rather on the touch- stareved side, but  Mihael was an extremely affectionate person. Mail had discovered, once he was comfortable with  Mihael in general, that he actually quite liked that about him. Things like holding hands, hugging, sitting side by side so close that their arms were touching, Hell, occasionally Mail had even been known to cuddle  Mihael while he was sleeping (although he would  _ never _ admit to that if he was asked). After a second, he draped an arm over his friend’s shoulders, and rested his head against  Mihael’s .

When  Mihael had walked into Mail’s room, he’d been crying, and Mail had, as he usually did, turned away. Dealing with  Mihael when he was upset was rather tricky, but Mail was pretty sure he knew what he was doing now. He didn’t like an audience when he cried, he didn’t like to be seen when he looked like that (which Mail really didn’t understand, in all honesty, as he didn’t think there was anything  _ wrong _ with the way  Mihael looked when he was crying), so Mail would turn his back to him. Usually then,  Mihael would turn to prayer, which Mail actually saw two functions in. It comforted  Mihael emotionally, which was, as he knew, the reason that he did it, but Mail had noticed that he had a very specific rhythm that he would fall into, and that regulated his breathing. That was good, he’d known  Mihael to lose track of that in the past, and it only ever made things worse. Whether he realised that or not, Mail wasn’t sure, but usually by the third or fourth repetition he was breathing normally again. When he eventually decided he was done with praying, he would look over at Mail, and that was when he knew it was okay to get close to him.  So, Mail would sit down beside him, and usually  Mihael would just rest against him. He tended to tire himself out when he cried.

“Do you feel better?” Mail asked, his voice sot. He still wasn’t quite used to speaking as often as he did now. He had been relatively silent during the first nine years of his life, only ever speaking when he had to, and the fact that he was so comfortable in a conversation with  Mihael was very strange to him.

“Yes,”  Mihael replied, and Mail couldn’t help but smile. He didn’t like to see  Mihael upset. He’d formed quite the attachment to him in the time that he’d known him, so much so that his feelings on talking to people and things like physical contact had been totally flipped specifically in his case.

Mail wasn’t sure how long he sat there,  Mihael leaning against his side, his head on his shoulder. He’d been known to spend entire days doing so, busying himself either with Pokémon or Legend of Zelda, depending on what he happened to be playing at the time, and which of his consoles he had on hand. But when he finally glanced at  Mihael , whose head was still resting on his shoulder, he wasn’t surprised to see that the boy had fallen asleep. He did that a lot, fell asleep on Mail’s shoulder without warning. Mail didn’t mind. Trying not to move, he reached for his  GameBoy , which he had tossed onto the bed earlier,  when Mihael had walked into the room. It wouldn’t do to wake him.


End file.
